


Take A Hint

by katnisspond



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Benverly and Reddie Parallel, Dialogue Heavy, Disney World, Eddie Kaspbrak Lives, Everybody Lives/Eddie ALMOST Dies, F/M, Happy Ending, Hotel, M/M, Pining, Pool, Soft Eddie Kaspbrak, Soft Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Soft Richie Tozier, Stanley Uris Lives, bed sharing because i'm a hoe for that content, but fic has a surprising lack of Disney in it???, losers club vacation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-17
Updated: 2020-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:09:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23186794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katnisspond/pseuds/katnisspond
Summary: A Losers Disney vacation with a surprising lack of Disney in the major plot points!Basically, Stan is tired, Bill is vibing, Mike is being an unabashed little shit here and there, Ben is the reluctant supervisor of these assholes, Beverly is iconic as usual, and our two prize dumbasses of the hour? Well, Eddie's really trying to get Richie to take the hint.
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Bill Denbrough/Audra Phillips, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Patricia Blum Uris/Stanley Uris
Comments: 18
Kudos: 110





	Take A Hint

Do you know what it’s like to be in the closet for literally your entire life, only to wind up in a Floridian airport with unabashedly painted nails and a really dysfunctional ponytail? Richie Tozier does. As he sat waiting expectantly for his friends to arrive, he even glanced at his nails once or twice without having a heart attack that they’d out him. That was kind of the point. 

About three months after the massive calamity that was Derry, Maine: The Sequel, the Losers Club decided they should actually hang out with one another, evil psychotic clown monster not invited. They’d all been absolutely destroying their phone bills with the group chat but, luckily, everyone besides Mike was practically loaded. Bill (the human) paid for the travelling librarian’s as well as most other big expenses as a thank you for the other 27 years wasted on the stupid clown. 

All in all, life was good. Beverly had gotten a divorce and was mid-shacking up with Ben - a move that Richie was positive required far more time than three months to orchestrate but who was he to complain? Stan and his wife had just gotten word that she was expecting so Patty Uris was staying behind on this one. She and Audra had agreed on a girls’ night so no one was too disappointed (except maybe Stan). Audra and Bill had workshopped their marriage to a healthy standpoint too so everyone was interested in seeing how well that would turn out in a year or so. Mike had already roamed through the better part of Wyoming, meanwhile Richie and Eddie spent the entire time sending scholarly-like articles that proved Wyoming didn’t exist. Mike was unconvinced.

And Eddie personally? Radio. Fucking. Silence. In regards to any life occurrences that is. He was a regular in the groupchat so no one questioned the lack of new information, but Richie had been direct messaging him random shit the whole time too and got absolutely nothing personal back. Richie could tell deflection when he saw it. 

On one hand, Eddie had nothing to hide, right? His six besties had seen him at his worst and at his best -- sometimes both simultaneously! But on the other hand, Richie could vividly recall how much shit they gave him for his mother. Eddie never even mentioned his wife in the groupchat, staying especially silent when they all planned Audra and Patty’s get together merely a few days earlier. Richie resolved to ask him when they all reached Orlando. 

Richie was seated against the wall in a long corridor, panelled with glass to see out onto the runway. Down the way, Richie spotted a familiar figure emerging. It was Stanley Uris. He was clad in flip flops, a hawaiian shirt not unlike Richie’s own, and cargo shorts that were quite literally the worst thing to grace his somewhat lithe frame.

“Stan the Man! Fuck yeah!” Richie slung his oversized backpack over his shoulder and jogged over to help with Stan’s suitcase. God knows he was exhausted enough to use the break. “Damn, already rocking the full baby boomer get up and your child hasn’t even been born yet!” Stan rolled his eyes but a small smile peeked out from under the eye bags. 

“Pregnant women, man. Steer clear.” Richie snorted. 

“Not a problem, Kubrick,” he replied flatly. “Why don’t you sit down before you pass out, dude. You look like you’re 30 seconds from getting a faceful of popcorn from the floor.” 

“Yeah, what is with the popcorn?” Stan said, kicking a piece forward like a pebble on a sandy beach. 

“No fucking clue.” The two emerged into a gigantic mall-like space filled with shops ranging from NASA to your usual airport fair. In the center was a funky oversized plant garden filled with palm trees and bushes, a seating area scattered around it that Richie was not-so-subtly corralling Stan towards. Stan was too busy taking in the scenery to care. 

“Is that a hotel? In the airport?” Across from them was a gigantic wall of apartment-like patios, vines draped across them to blend in with the weird, ‘nature’ aesthetic of the lobby. 

“Yeah, man, Florida’s wack. Mike’s gonna love it here. Everything’s backwards as shit.” 

“No kidding... He might even start interviewing the locals if we don’t keep an eye on him. Isn’t he working on that documentary on national dialects?”

“I’ll be honest, Staniel, I zoned out on that conversation the moment he said, ‘I find this interesting.’” 

The next to arrive was Bill, smiling almost brighter than the day they’d killed the clown. At least he had the decency to wear a normal shirt with his horrendous cargo pants that didn’t fit right. They were eerily similar to his past soiree with jorts.

“Richie! Stan!” 

“Well if it isn’t Big Bill, the tiny one! How’s it hanging?” Richie and Stan both stood just in time for a practically running impact level hug. 

“Fan-fucking-tastic,” Bill mumbled into Richie’s shouldering, elliciting a laugh. 

“I still can’t believe you’re shorter than Eddie,” Stan mumbled. 

“Shhh, don’t let Eddie know that,” Richie said in a whisper-yell. “I still have at least an hour and a half of short jokes to get through before he realizes.” Bill chuckled and pulled back, tossing a soft punch into Richie’s shoulder. “Ow! Friend abuse! I’m calling the police!” Stan then proceeded to hip check him. 

“Don’t yell that in a fucking airport, you idiot,” he hissed. Richie rubbed his hip bone with faux-betrayal painted across his face. 

“That’s gonna leave a bruise! However will I explain this to my male escort, Espartu?” 

“As if you could pay someone to fuck you, dipshit.” Richie cracked an enormous smile as he spun on his heel towards the origin of the scathing response. 

“Espartu! Hello!” 

“Oh fuck right off, Richard.” It was Eddie of course, wearing the same deadpan expression that he never failed to have on hand for Richie’s nonsense. Granted the clothes were unexpectedly passable considering the lack of polo anywhere in sight. Instead, his weapons of choice were a tight fitting black running shirt and some basketball shorts, a pair of sleek sunglasses tucked away on his hair. The only real Eddie-ism besides being abnormally hot in Richie’s eyes was the gigantic backpack that was nearly the size of a hiker’s. And the practically knee high black socks. That was a big Eddie-ism.

“That’s no way to talk to someone who’s paying you.” 

“Don’t make me knee you in the balls, douchebag. The cops around will think you deserve protection. Hi, guys!” Eddie purposefully pushed past Richie to hug Bill and Stan, grinning deviously as he did it. Bill was already in stitches, still riding high from having just gotten off of his own flight but Stan just shook his head at his friends’ antics. 

“What, no hug for Ricardo? You wound me,” Richie said with a gasp and a hand to his heart. 

“You wish,” Eddie snarked back, only to be embraced from behind then lifted off of his feet and swung back and forth like a child holding a teddy bear. Richie decided not to display his immediate regret at wrapping his arms around a very toned torso by burying his face into Eddie’s neck. 

“Missed you, Eds!” With a resigned sigh, Eddie decided to go limp rather than fight it.

“Jesus Christ. Is this what I signed up for? Because if so, I demand a refund.”

“Well I see everyone’s getting along great so far,” Bev said behind them. Richie dropped Eddie unceremoniously so they could both turn to face Beverly and Ben. Richie was very very aware that Eddie placed a hand on his arm as he peeked around at them. Richie used to pull that shit all the time.  
“The perfect couple back in action! Glad to see you two still haven’t aged whatsoever! What’s the secret? Please, my hair could use it,” Richie deadpanned as everyone swarmed for hugs. The soon-to-be-Hanscoms were, as usual, looking reminiscent of a perfume ad or possibly a commercial for Xarelto. There weren’t even misfitting cargo shorts or Hawaiin print involved. 

“You know if you didn’t survive on pizza and unholy amounts of alcohol, your hair would probably be fine, dumbass,” Eddie interjected, elbowing Richie in the ribs before innocently extending a hug to Ben. 

“Ow! Are you guys trying to make me look like I got in a fist fight with an elf? At least land one on my face so it looks like I fought someone with a dignified height!” 

“Is that an invitation to sock you in the face, Richie?” Bev asked with a smirk over Bill’s shoulder. “Stan, rock, paper, scissors, ASAP.” 

“Nah. If I won, his nose would never be the same,” Stan replied. Ben laughed and gave Richie one of those super tight bro hugs with all the semi-painful back patting. 

“Aw, c’mon guys, we can’t injure him too bad,” he said cheerily. 

“See? Hanscom’s got my back! Literally, that’s one place you do not have to worry about adding to the destruction,” Richie coughed out over his built shoulder. Eddie was cackling while Bev and Bill at least tried to contain their amusement.  
Then, as if on cue, Mike Hanlon arrived. Bill was the one who spotted him down the hall, pointing him out to the others. Ben naturally gravitated to Bev’s side, shifting Eddie back to Richie’s as a happy coincidence. Stan and Bill brought up the sides as Bill gave a wave to their most loyal, patient friend. Mike looked like he was already close to tears. 

“Hey guys,” he said with a somewhat wobbly voice. Time for a group hug. Thank god Eddie packed tissues.

****

“Seven people, three rooms. We’ll survive, you divas.” Stan threw Richie and Eddie and exhausted glare as he tossed them their room keys. 

“We’re all loaded though, man! Why the fuck can’t we just go somewhere else!” 

“Closer to the parks,” Beverly, Bill, and Stan replied simultaneously for the third time in the past thirty minutes. Mike was laughing at least. Eddie gave a frustrated harrumph, taking the room key for room 122 and pointing it almost viciously at Richie. 

“If you fucking dare leave any, and I mean any dirty laundry out, you are fucking dead, dipshit.” Richie raised his hands defensively but before he could clapback, Eddie turned to the others. “And next time we’re calling in a fucking reservation!” With that, he began towards the elevators like a dance mom too pissed to deal with her children anymore. 

“Jeez, someone start playing the Imperial Death March,” Richie commented, grabbing the second key. “He’s got a point though. Just saying.” 

“I think rolling my eyes the amount of times I have over the past hour is going to give me a stigmatism,” Stan grumbled. Bill gave him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. Right as Ben returned from the bathroom, Bev kissed him like her life depended on it. Ben pulled back disheveled. 

“Wha…?” 

“We got our own room. God, I love you, you big dashing hunk,” Bev explained with a shit eating grin. Richie and Bill groaned in annoyance. 

“Oh- Okay? Nice?” he stuttered out. 

“I’d tell you to fuck off but honestly,” Richie said as she dragged her frazzled boyfriend to the stairs. “All I can say to that is nice job, Marsh.” And of course they would take the stairs. Hot people take the stairs unless they’re Eddie. 

“Hey, fuckface, you coming?!” Speak of the devil, Eddie was holding the elevator door open for him across the room. As he backed up to it, Richie shot Mike some finger guns.

“You sure you don’t want to hang with the bachelors club, Mikey?” Mike chuckled. 

“Nah, I’d rather avoid third wheeling with the most chaotic dumbasses on this side of America, thanks!” Both Eddie and Richie shot him the finger as Richie ducked into the elevator. The doors shut with a ding. Then it was just Richie and Eddie. 

“You aren’t actually going to kill me in my sleep, right?” Richie asked hesitantly. Eddie raised an eyebrow and glanced at him, looking him up and down. 

“We’ll see.” Richie legitimately couldn’t look him in the eye with a straight face. “What? What’s so funny asshole?” Richie finally burst out laughing. 

“All I can- All I can imagine is this Eddie-styled Chucky like-” Richie imitated the sound from psycho with stunning accuracy, making a stabbing motion. Eddie’s pokerface was almost as amazing as Stan’s but couldn’t make the cut on this one. He wound up laughing too, tossing out a hand to whack Richie’s arm. 

“Douchebag!” 

The elevator swung open with a ding and Richie followed Eddie to their room. The hall was hotel-y alright. And he was just following his best friend down the hall. To their room. In a hotel. He felt… wrong about it for some reason -- even though the rooming was only based on Stan, Mike, and Bill disowning them. Richie readjusted the backpack straps on his shoulder and decided to calm his shit for once. God knows having Eddie around was enough nervous energy for the both of them. 

“You haven’t really talked much about your life back in New York,” Richie prompted. He almost surprised himself with that one to be honest, leaning up against a nearby wall as Eddie had to rescan the door key for going too fast. 

“Nothing much to say.” He finally got the damn thing to open on try number four. Richie would’ve commented if he wasn’t more focused on the conversation at hand. 

“Uh huh. And your wife was completely unphased by the sudden urge to go fight a killer clown hundreds of miles away,” Richie pressed. Eddie gave a sigh and tossed his bag aside, surveying the room. 

“Do you think they wash the comforter too here? Maybe I should run it through the laundry just in case.” Richie gave a humorless laugh.

“That’s not even a good deflection, Eds. At least try a little harder.” Instead of pushing Eddie further into a corner, Richie decided to give him an out from the subject as a whole. Richie was the last person allowed to dig at someone over a secret. “Also, I’m going to say yes they do because I actually want to sleep tonight, dipshit. You’re not confiscating the bedding or I swear to god, your toothbrush is going on an adventure.” The offense that flooded the room was palpable. As Eddie started in on his rant, Richie launched onto the pristine white sheets of the King bed they’d be sharing because they didn’t get proper reservations like total dopes, grinning into the pillows.

****

The plan was simple. The trip would be six days, two of which would be spent in Epcot, two in Magic Kingdom, and one in the others. Since their first day would be an Epcot day, the Losers Club decided to take their sweet time rolling out of bed post-plane rides which led to Richard Tozier having one of the weirdest mornings of his life so far. 

They’d been so tired the night before that Richie had already passed out long before Eddie was done with his shower. It seemed like a great idea at the time, but in hindsight, Richie slightly regretted it. Sure, he probably avoided the awkward interaction of getting into bed his childhood crush who he was undoubtedly still in love with, however he would be aware that Eddie’s choice of pajamas was surprisingly just an oversized shirt and his boxers. How did he realize this that morning? The fucker had managed to kick off any sheets he’d been previously wrapped in (Richie was positive he kept the burrito-ing habit from when he was a kid, regardless of that morning’s contrary evidence) and was splayed out completely across his side of the bed. It took Richie about an entire minute to process the way his best friend had abs thanks to his shirt hiking up. That was before he realized that Eddie likely had a fucking night terror, hence the sheets deal. 

Or maybe Richie was projecting. Who knows. After all, this was the first time he’d slept peacefully in weeks.

After an extensive evaluation of all the impulsive things he really shouldn’t do and/or say about this situation, Richie slunk out of bed to the bathroom to let Eddie continue sleeping. It was six in the morning so in reality, Richie intended to do the same. Unfortunately, upon using aformentioned bathroom, he made the awful realization that the toilet sounded like it was having a fucking seizure about two seconds after you flushed it. That left Richie three seconds from being completely back under the covers- basically half way in bed with his glasses half off, when Eddie woke up with a flying start. Literally. The man fell out of bed with a yelp. 

“Shit! Eddie!” Richie bounced over the bed to the edge, reaching a hand out to Eddie. His friend was still a little too panicked to fully comprehend the situation. though, backing up against the wall with wide eyes pointing nowhere in particular. “Eds?” Richie’s voice gave a pitiful crack that he wholeheartedly blamed on having just woken up. At least that caught Eddie’s attention. 

“Oh. Hi, Rich. You’re… fine.” Richie blinked at him. 

“Thanks? Are you?” Eddie froze for a second before decisively shaking his head ‘no’. Richie hopped out of bed and dropped to the floor to look Eddie eye to eye, offering his arms out to hug him. Eddie didn’t hesitate to take the offer. Ben’s abnormally tight hug from earlier didn’t stand a chance against the ferocity of this one. 

“Sorry. Fucking- The Lights had y-” 

“Yeah. I get it. Don’t worry.” Eddie buried his face in Richie’s shoulder. They were at an odd angle: Eddie’s legs were curled under Richie’s left arm as Richie crouched uncomfortably. Neither complained.

“Thank you.” This hadn’t been the first time Richie had been an impromptu anti-panic attack method for Eddie Kaspbrack. After all, this was the very same kid who dumped a soda on Bowers’ head over some spilled popcorn. Even while split apart for decades, their lives were still heavily intertwined. 

It took a while for Eddie’s grip to loosen, then finally release. His generally big eyes were still pretty wide with fright from whatever the hell his brain had just conjured up. “What uh- What time is it?” 

“Six. We could technically sleep in since no one was planning on being up until like, eight I think?” 

“Shit, did I wake you up?” Eddie grew visibly more grounded as his eyebrows furrowed. Richie gave a small laugh at a sudden memory of ruffling his hair when they were too young to care about who was watching, yelling ‘cute, cute, cute!’ at that same expression as Eddie fussed over a bruise he’d accidentally planted on Richie’s shin. The Losers were all getting used to those random memories. In the present, Richie just lightheartedly shook his head. 

“Nah, other way around. Our toilet sounds like a helicopter on speed.” Eddie gave a chuckle, dropping his head in relief. Richie’s heart fluttered. Shit.

“You know, you could probably sleep through a nuclear bomb, Rich. I used the damn thing last night and panicked that I’d woke you up. Lo and behold, your dumbass was still snoring like a fucking freight train.” 

They were both giggling like idiots as Richie stood and grabbed Eddie’s hands, lifting him to his feet. 

“It was either get a sleep apnea machine or loudly be on the verge of death every night and I chose the badass option, okay.” 

“Oh dear god. Snoring’s not- How are you still alive, fucker?” 

“Will power. Sheer will power.” Eddie chuckled again as he turned and flopped down on the bed. Richie took that as a ‘hell yes, we’re sleeping in’ so rather than walking around the bed like a normal adult, he attempted to launch over Eddie to his own side. He, unsurprisingly, landed on at least a quarter of Eddie. 

“Ow! Jesus! You’re the fucking worst!” Eddie exclaimed, shoving Richie to his side with a content grin. 

“That’s not what your mom said last night,” Richie replied, wiggling his eyebrows. 

“What are you, twelve? She’s fucking dead, dickface!” Richie survived the pillow to the face, 99% positive he hadn’t been this carefree since the late 80s. Light was streaming in through the flowy white curtains, casting a warm orange over the Floridian hotel room as Eddie tried to smother him with a pillow, their friends safe and sound only a few rooms away... In the end, Eddie even settled the pillow against Richie’s shoulder, burritoing in the center of the bed right next to him. 

“I knew you still did that!” He got flicked in the arm. 

***

The trip on the way to Epcot was fucking wonderful. It was so calm! The Losers got to mosey out of their hotel rooms and onto the monorail with only minimal Kaspbrak health complaints! (Richie volunteered his arm to hold onto rather than the bars. He’s never seen a man look so relieved.) 

“Well, this is it,” Ben said cheerily, opening his arms at the gigantic silver ball in front of them. The sun glinted off of it from behind, giving it some kind of picturesque halo. The Losers beamed. Beverly looped her arm through Ben and Stan’s.

“You know, we finally made it guys. Disney is the epitome of everything non-scary and we’re here together after everything we went through.” 

“Bev, you’re gonna make us cry,” Mike said. The others decided to follow Beverly’s lead, sidling up to one another as a compact group. 

“You’re right, Bev. We did it,” Bill said softly uner his breath. It was true. When Stan threw his arm over Mike’s shoulder, the scar of Pennywise’s attempts to kill them were on display. Eddie’s facial scar was never even hidden, always there as a reminder of the shitty town they’d escaped and the prejudices it held. Bev grabbed on to Ben especially, knowing that she’d finally escaped the abuse of her past. Granted, Eddie’s arm was wound pretty tightly around Richie too but he naturally assumed that was just Eddie being in the moment. 

Seconds before they would likely part again, a Disney photographer jogged up to them, all smiles, asking if they wanted a photograph together. Stan pulled a polaroid camera from his bag, not unlike the very first one he’d bought for the Loser’s Club back in the 90s, and handed it to her. It was one hell of a photo. 

“Fridge material. Fridge material,” Richie chanted. Eddie stashed his in his backpack, catching Richie’s eye about it for the third time that day. “Yo, Eds. Wouldn’t it be easier if the bag was, say, within reach,” Richie said, gesturing at his hip where a fanny pack would sit. 

“Stop waving at your junk, Richie, you’ll scare the kids,” Eddie deadpanned. He slung the bag back over his shoulder like the popular girl would toss her hair, catching Richie right in the heart strings. 

“You know, I could respond to that but pedophilia is bad, boys and girls.” He earned groans all around for that one. “What? I’m just saying!” Eddie very clearly struggled not to laugh so at least one person found him funny. 

“You are so awful in so many ways,” Stan said flatly.

After a heated, particularly vicious debate, the majority decided that their first ride should be ‘Soaring’, a neat indoor glider simulator that hoists you up above a ginormous screen, displaying the surrounding environment from above. To be honest, the only thing Richie got out of that one was brushing up against Eddie a few times due to the seat proximity. And absolutely roasting Stan for falling asleep on the ride too. 

“We slept in!” 

“And? I’m still catching up!”

Lunch was spent convincing Mike to talk to one of the Japanese restaurant waiters in Japanese. They managed to completely convince her that he spoke only Japanese even though the rest of the group spoke only English. Bill also accidentally flung a chopstick into Ben’s eye which caused the entire table to turn on him very quickly. Bill was positive that the scariest thing he’d ever seen beyond their collective rage as a group was Mike furiously shouting at him in Japanese. 

Richie catalogued about three times that his hand brushed with Eddie’s. Jesus, he needed a life. 

Test Track resulted in Ben and Mike’s being the nicest car, followed by Eddie and Beverly’s. Richie and Bill managed the worst rating in car history - so much so that they were convinced the ride would slow down or spin out on their test run. And Stan? Stan enjoyed his ice cream outside. No more headaches for Staniel. 

“Hey Eddie, do you think they’ll even let you on this one? It has a height bar-” Richie’s ribs lost density that day. 

Finally, they boarded a weird Nowegian acid trip of a ride that was to be replaced with a Frozen attraction in no time. After exiting the funky boat thing, they were all dazed, confused, and in some cases, battling flash-induced headaches. 

“Um, what the fuck did we just witness?” Bev said airily. 

“What it’s like to take LSD,” Richie replied, earning a very disapproving glare from at least three members of the Losers Club. Bill, however, only giggled. 

“Yeah, man, with all the warping? That’s exactly what it’s like.” 

“You’ve used LSD?!” Ben gaped.

“Hey! No one was surprised when I said it!” Richie cried.

Richie also had to try really hard not to read into how easily Eddie shared his bubble tea afterwards. Mr. Germaphobe decided Richie’s germs weren’t scary. Nice.

“Italian! Italian! Italian!” 

“What is with you and the chanting today?” Eddie lamented at Richie dramatically, earning a snort from Beverly. “You’re not twelve! Form a sentence!” 

“Bold of you to assume I didn’t mentally regress thirty years the second I stepped foot in this state,” Richie replied challengingly. 

“That explains so much,” Stan grumbled. Before Eddie could fire back at Richie for the third bikerfest they’d had in the past hour, Beverly pushed between the two. 

“Italy it is!” With yet another harrumph, Eddie accepted the verdict and passed the bubble tea back to Richie. Not to mention they were walking pretty closely together. How did Richie survive his childhood like this? This was how they always were: elbows knocking and roughhousing. Yet, here, as adults, Richie was genuinely on the verge of just pulling Eddie into his arms and never letting go. 

“So, Eddie,” Mike said with that ‘I’m about to wreck this man’s whole career’ expression that Richie was all too familiar with. “I noticed you aren’t wearing a wedding ring.” It was at this moment that Richie became a nonfunctioning mobile being, covering his lack of neurological activity with a loud sip of the bubble tea. Mike was right. Holy shit. Eddie, however, was unphased. 

“Yeah, the divorce went through last week. Had a prenup too so risk analysis really does have it perks.” Up ahead, Beverly turned. Her eyes said it all. It was a mix of pride, bewilderment, and a dash of hurt. Within one swoop, she was hugging Eddie as if her life depended on it. Eddie rolled his eyes and patted her back. 

“Why the fuck didn’t you tell us?!” Stan cried. It took a second to process but Bill eventually gave an excited pat on Eddie’s back.

“Congrats!” 

“Yeah, Yeah, it’s not a big deal, you assholes.” Beverly finally pulled back to look at Eddie with tears building in her eyes. 

“Bullshit.” Beverly and Eddie shared one thing in common that the others could never truly relate to in that moment. After years of manipulative and painful treatment, they were finally free. No more looming figures on the horizon, just smooth sailing from there on out. And therapy. 

“I’m with Bev on this one, Eds,” Richie finally said, patting Eddie’s shoulder with Bill. “Not to mention, we were unaware that we could legally tap that! Hell, Mike was a shark honing in on the fucking prey, man!” Eddie buried his head into Bev’s shoulder so as not to openly laugh with the others at that one. 

“Oh my fucking- Can we go now? I’m hungry and you dip shits are standing between me and the absolute health abomination that is pasta.” 

“That’s our rebellious Spagheddie Kaspbrak! Mrs. K would very much not be proud!” Richie cheered, throwing an arm over Eddie’s shoulder. 

“You’re lucky I thought I broke your ribs earlier because if that hadn’t happened, I’d destroy you right now,” Eddie replied with a telling smile that he couldn’t physically put away. Richie felt his chest tighten up when Beverly looped her own arm around Ben. So the model couple copied them. And Eddie got a divorce. And was sharing his bubble tea. Nice. 

As the warm Floridian evening steadily lost the waning sunlight, the group stretched out, meandering towards ‘Italy’, letting them break apart into what were basically their room assignments for small conversation. Richie was so busy thoroughly thanking every god that maybe exists for how Eddie had leaned into his side that he almost forgot to actually use words and stuff. 

“So I’m guessing that was what you were sitting on last night?” Richie asked with a soft smile. Eddie huffed, grabbing the bubble tea and taking a drink before shoving it back in his hand. It was oddly endearing from the little pissant. 

“Not entirely.” Richie raised his eyebrows. “I… Alright, you cannot tell the others this one because I’m hungry and like hell am I dealing with that shit right now.” Richie mimed zipping his lips and tossing away the key. 

“My lips are sealed, Spagheds.” 

“Don’t call me that.” Eddie proceeded to pull his phone from his pocket but before Richie could pull away, he tucked himself rather comfortably against Richie’s side again, thumbs tapping away. Holy shit, married couple much? Richie was 0.2 seconds from legitimately melting even though the weather was being rather agreeable by humid Floridian standards. “There. I seriously don’t want to field allergy questions yet. That’s a mental warpath I am not ready to go on.” Eddie lifted his phone to reveal a photo of what initially looked like a large black hole on a sofa but upon further inspection, it had eyes, a tail, perky ears and a button nose. 

“Ohmyfuckinggodit’sadorable,” Richie wheezed, leaning down for a better view. 

“What is? I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Eddie said with a playful lilt, swiping to another photo of the ball of joy. “Name’s ‘Penny’ just to fuck with you by the way. Take a guess on breed.” Richie gave a shocked laugh. 

“You little shit! You really went there!” 

“Damn right, I did.” Eddie clicked his phone off and shoved it in his pocket, returning his arm around Richie’s side. “She’s a fucking terror when she stands in the doorway at night though. I’ve broken two glasses and gotten a mild concussion over her random fucking jumpscares but now I’m too commited.” Richie swore he could cry right then and there. 

“You are literally my favorite person, Eds. You adopted the bastardized puppet of an evil alien space clown out of spite.” Eddie gave a pleased shrug. 

“Eh. Worth it if I get to scare the shit out of you with her.” He even added a reassuring squeeze around Richie’s midsection at that one. Fellas, is it gay to cozy up next to your lifelong friend, hint at his presence in your immediate vicinity and wink for good measure? For the first time in basically his entire life when it came to one Edward Kaspbrack, Richie decided that yes, yes it was. 

“I will earn her trust and train her to backfire on you,” Richie declared with a full heart, earning a chuckle. 

“Yeah fucking right. She’s a menace who I’ve woken up to sleeping on my head. Are you sure you really want to be her favorite?” 

“Are you kidding? Fuck yeah, man! She’s so fluffy!”

“But between her and the sleep apnea machine…” Richie hip checked him and they burst into laughter, catching Stan’s attention. 

“Oh god, what are you two idiots scheming about now?”

“Richie’s demise via suffocation. I’m putting him out of his misery,” Eddie replied without missing a beat. “It’ll even look like an accident so I won’t be liable but he’s still stupid enough to let it happen after I told him the plan.” Richie was laughing too hard to contribute. 

“Ah, but where will you hide the body?” Mike asked with a wiggle of his eyebrows. 

“In plain sight. I’ll prop him up in an alleyway and drape a blanket around him. Everyone will just assume he’s homeless.” 

“H-Hey!” Richie cried while, ironically, trying to catch his breath. 

“Wait but what if he shaves?” Mike asked in a dead serious tone.

“I’ll just donate him to the Muppets,” Eddie replied matter-of-factly, even earning some laughter from Stan. Richie was 90% positive Eddie was holding him up at this point. 

“You g-genius little fucker,” Bill said with a sadistic grin, catching a high five. Beverly and Ben slowed down to let the others catch up. 

“What now?” Ben asked. 

“Eddie is selling Richie to the Muppets,” Stan replied. Eddie was grinning ear to ear. 

“For a modest price obviously. Animal may be out of a job.” 

“As if Eddie wouldn’t wind up as Beaker,” Bev added, earning an offended gasp. Richie fought through his laughter to rip out an impersonation of the most neurotic of all Muppets, surprisingly escaping into the Italian restaurant before Eddie could retaliate. Not that Eddie didn’t land a pretty vicious kick to his shins as they entered through the doorway. 

***

“They have a fucking hot pool?!” Richie was splayed across their bed, flipping nonchalantly through the hotel pamphlet when he found it, displayed in all its glory. Eddie finished untying his shoes by the door and paused, staring up at Richie with big ol’ astonished eyes. 

“Hot tub, you mean?” 

“No, no, no they have that too but like- Look, man!” Both men were well aware that it was nearly one in the morning after an insane amount of walking and quite a few drinks. The sky was almost pitch black outside due to the lights of the nearby traffic and parks, only leaving the warm orange glow of their nightstand to illuminate the room. As Eddie took the pamphlet from him, Richie realized that out of a ginormous bed, that man decided to sit so close that they were practically touching. His heart rate started kicking up. What happens when Richie gets flustered? Dumbassery. Why else would their childhood be so… eventful?

“Oh for- It’s the same thing just bigger you-” 

“We’re going swimming in it,” Richie interjected resolutely. Eddie cough-sputtered because he couldn’t get the words out in time before Richie was already pulling him to his feet. “Ben made us all pack swimsuits, right? So why the fuck not?” 

“It’s 1:30, Rich!” Richie dug through his bag as a man on a mission, yanking his shorts out like one would yank the cord on a lawnmower. 

“And? Who’s stopping us? No one’s waking early tomorrow either since Stan’s still making up for about 6 months of baby-addled sleep deprivation!” Richie ducked into the bathroom, knowing he’d already won by the expression on Eddie’s face. That was the, ‘you’re a dumbass and I will complain, but lead the way’ expression that defined any true misbehavior they ever got into. Richie was always the brains of the operation, recommending his fiery little friend to jump into trouble, leading the brawns to fuck everything up through sheer chaotisim. 

“We’re already going to be sore from today! God, this is such a shitty idea!” Eddie called. He was going along with it though, as proven by the rustling of his bag. Richie giggled like a teenager as the Kaspbrak Rant™ continued, occasionally being muffled by the exchange of clothing. Richie himself had already stripped down to nothing, yanking up his swim shorts and hoping to god the fabric hung well. 

“Knock, knock, Eddie! Ready to get this show on the road?” Richie asked through the bathroom door, pulling towels from the funky hanging cabinet. Eddie’s response was lackluster at best. 

“Uh… No. I probably won’t be.” Before taking two seconds to think, Richie frowned and exited, not considering the fact that Eddie’s movement pausing may not have meant he was dressed yet. In fact, the man’s silence should have been a red flag from hell. That being said, Richie was dead set on a goal so any real thought before action procedure had already been ejected from his brain. As he exited the bathroom, Eddie flinched and immediately covered his midsection with his arms, only wearing his swim trunks. “I um, didn’t think through the shirt thing? And all I have are polos otherwise, so uh- I just-” Richie’s brain was firing in multiple directions but the foremost was focused on how such a generally built man (wow, okay, cool) managed to look so small. Richie wanted to kick himself. He shouldn’t have barged out like that, regardless of whatever was up with his friend.

“What’s- Your…? No one else would be there I don’t think? Besides, I don’t think it’s a big deal or anything, the-” Richie gestured to his own torso like an idiot, trying not to say ‘impalement scar’ or anything serious along those lines. The most Richie had seen of it by then was that very night, peeking out from behind tightly crossed arms. It was stark white and unnatural looking. Granted, nothing’s quite natural about a killer clown impalement. 

“To you maybe. How the fuck am I supposed to field questions about the sealed up hole through my chest?” Eddie sounded more exhausted by the thought rather than anxious about it. To be honest, they all were worn out with the long winded interviews from strangers and relatives alike.

“I can come up with some bullshit on the fly,” Richie replied quickly, once again without thinking. Then he realized that Eddie deserved to have an out from the situation. Time for some uncharacteristic backtracking from dumbass no. 1. “I mean, if you even want to go. It’s probably deserted but like, I don’t have a fucking scar or whatever - thanks for that by the way - but, uh-” Eddie snorted and shook his head, sparing a glance at the ceiling. 

“I hate you sometimes, you know that? You really… I’m trusting you on this. You’d better have a rock fucking solid explanation that doesn’t end in a dick joke or I will not hesitate to eviscerate you.” Eddie’s arms fell with only the slightest bit of hesitation to reveal a gnarled, light pink patch of skin spanning from his ribcage to somewhere just above his belly button. It glared at Richie like a neon sign that said, ‘he almost died for you so maybe don’t fuck this up’. There were also abs? Richie, albeit very much wanting to let his gaze linger on them, was well aware that it would look like he was staring at Eddie’s scar. (Also, staring at shirtless best friends isn’t really the social norm.) 

“What about ending in a joke about vaginas? It’s never too late to teach an old dog new tricks,” Richie replied with a shit eating grin. Eddie rolled his eyes and his shoulders visibly dropped with any anxiety he had over the escapade. He didn’t even have another response besides a fond roll of the eyes and snatching his towel from Richie’s hands. “Careful, Eds, your eyes are gonna get stuck like Stan’s if you don’t contain them.” 

“I’ll take my chances.” Eddie tossed the towel around his shoulders and held it closed in front of him, both veiling his scar and generally providing a layer between himself and the AC in the hall. Richie managed about 3 seconds in the freezing cold blast before following suit. 

***

The hotel, while booked rather hastily, had an insanely nice pool and rec area per Stan’s request. Richie was right about no one being around, so Eddie relaxed a little as they explored the place. The pool room itself was unique, a window separating an outdoor half from an indoor that could be swam under into the slightly chilly night. The lights from within the pool cast blue and purple wave lines onto the ceiling and gave the pool an ethereal atmosphere. In fact, that very glow was entrancing enough for Richie to completely disregard the rest of the room in favor of glancing across the pool at Eddie, a towel still draped over his shoulders as he leaned over the water to get a closer look. 

“Warm cesspool of bacteria. Anyone else and I’d light them up for even considering entering this thing.” 

Richie knew that if he stayed there any longer, he’d say something a little too affectionate to be placed under the ‘as a friend category’, so he made the only logical decision available and cannon balled into the pool rather than respond. It was as warm as a bath and comfortable enough that while his glasses glided off of his nose, he didn’t bother reaching for them. From under the water, he could hear the muffled yelling of his comrade about it. Only when the water reverberated with the impact of someone else launching themselves in did Richie finally come up for air. 

Everything was fuzzy but he could vaguely make out a dark shape that was underwater moving directly at him. When Eddie stood up after a few blurry seconds, he was shoving Richie’s glasses back onto his face with Kaspbrack coined accuracy and force that made Richie’s nose twinge everytime. And he was inches from Richie’s face after he’d done it. 

“Jesus fucking Christ, dude. It’s not like you’ve ever not had glasses! How did you not see that coming?” Eddie’s hair was slicked back like some perfume model in an advertisement and his shoulders were once again no longer concealed by the obstructing layer of towel. The water would likely be covering Eddie’s scar but Richie didn’t dare look down, guessing that the infamous pack of abs would likely be lit up by the fucking pool. 

“Maybe it was an excuse to get your little ass in the cesspool, my man.” 

“As if you’d had the forethought. Your hair is not doing you any favors in the water, by the way.” Eddie gave a shit eating grin and started wading to the outdoor entryway as Richie laughed. 

“Wow. Says the drowned rat.” 

“Careful not to shed in the pool, Chewbacca.” 

“Oh don’t worry. This?” Richie replied, combing a hand through his chest hair. “Absolutely fused to my body. It got waxed once and I discovered the 7th layer of hell.” 

“Why the fuck would you wax your chest?” Eddie sounded genuinely offended by the notion. Richie shook his head and followed Eddie for the exit into the night. 

“SNL is a bad bad place, man. Between the waxing for a skit and the limited cussing rule? I was bound to fail.” 

“Oh, come on, your SNL skits were actually pretty great in comparison to that Grade A touring bullshit.” He ducked under the water before Richie could call him out for watching literally any of Trashmouth Tozier’s mainstream work. 

The two emerged into slightly chillier air on the other side of the glass panel, nearby light pollution blocking the stars but the general night sky feel still prevailing. Eddie found a seating area in a corner and leaned over the edge of the pool, laying his head on crossed arms and looking over at Richie with big brown eyes. The light was doing that thing again. Eddie wasn’t even moving, only softly smiling at him from a few feet away while Richie’s heart did actual backflips. 

“Who needs Disney when you can vibe at a hotel at 1 in the morning, right Eds?” Eddie snorted and glanced up at the sky. Richie waded closer but kept a few feet’s difference. This was the deep end, an odd choice temperature wise for the hotel but certainly enjoyable here. 

“We’ll regret this in the morning.”

“Will we though?” Richie asked with a faux high pitch. “I mean, it seems pretty worth it to me.” Eddie was strangely calm, opting for all smiles and a light voice. It was making Richie’s chest tight to see him so… relaxed. He knew from the decades they’d been in one another’s vicinity that this was an extremely rare occurrence. Was he the only one to see Eddie Kaspbrack so genuinely in his element, unbothered by the anxieties that were usually running amuck inside that head of his? Richie could name the number of times this had happened on one hand and all of them were from their childhood. Part of him considered Myra might have seen him like this but considering the conversation he’d overheard at the hospital and the context of their marriage… he could easily believe otherwise. 

Back when they were 15 and 16, whiling away time in the old clubhouse alone, Eddie had leaned his head against Richie’s shoulder while they read separate comics, giving a bone deep sigh of relief as though some other worldly weight that only he could bear had been temporarily lifted from his shoulders. Eddie gave that sigh now, though his gaze was focused squarely on Richie this time. So yeah, maybe Richie should feel a little responsible for those few striking moments. 

It took a quick internal pep talk for Richie to move any closer, opting to sit fairly close to Eddie on the edge of the underwater seating. Eddie glanced back at him with a sly grin before stretching, then leaning back against the pool wall for a better angle turned at Richie. It was at that moment that he absolutely nailed Richie’s shin with a killer, all heel punt that sent the other man reeling.

“Ow! You conniving little shit!” 

“It’s my chair asshole, go find another alcove,” Eddie said with all smiles on the verge of giggling. 

“Why are you like this? Absolutely evil,” Richie muttered under his breath, clutching his shin like a wounded man as he drifted back into the water. Rather than float away, he pulled himself up right up to Eddie’s face like a challenge. “What, am I invading your personal space? Huh? Fucker.” Eddie’s eyes glanced to Richie’s mouth.

“I have a bubble and you’re popping it.” 

“Well, all be damned, Eds. That’s kind of my job.” 

“Uh huh. What’s the pay then,” Eddie replied, eyes meeting Richie’s. The deep brown highlighted by the light beneath them? God. He looked like a painting from a long lost dream Richie had in the 90s. He could feel Eddie’s breath brushing his chin. 

“Your undivided attention. When those big ol’ eyes of yours have the little flames in them right before you evict me.” 

“And what if I didn’t?”

“Didn’t what?” 

“Evict you. Kick you out of my bubble. What happens then?” Richie’s heart was doing a fucking tango in his chest. This was flirting, right? This had to be flirting. Both of them were stock still, inches apart… Yeah. This was it. The light bulb finally came on for Richie. From the constant sugary lining behind Eddie’s words, to the many admissions that he didn’t actually think Richie sucked ass; those were big leaps from a man like Eddie. Richie physically couldn’t ignore it. Eddie was trying, really trying, to get the point across. All Richie had to do was meet him at the finish line. 

“If you didn’t kick me out then I’d probably stick around. Maybe kiss you-” Eddie was already on him, a hand snaking behind Richie’s head to hold them steady. It was warm, a little too forceful, and entirely him. 

***

“Hey Rich?” Richie glanced up from his cereal at Beverly who was staring squarely at his neck with amusement. 

“Hm?”

“Look into some concealer, honey. Eddie did a number.” Richie barely avoided doing a spit take. Beverly dug into her bag and withdrew some of her own, nodding to the nearby bathroom and mouthing ‘left side’. 

“Thanks!” His voice may have cracked a little, slipping past a few other hotel guests who’d come for the breakfast bar with a hand covering what he hoped was the extent of the damage. “And give Eddie an ‘F you’ for the lack of a heads up!” 

“He probably assumed you’d seen a single mirror since last night but I’ll still take you up on that offer!” she called back. 

***

The group as a whole decided on Magic Kingdom at breakfast that morning. They weren’t in it for the many rides and attractions, but rather the chance to mosey their way through a nice Losers Club vacation, so they didn’t bother planning ahead. They’d encounter an hour line at most because it was during an off season anyway. 

On the monorail over, it was a split vote between starting at haunted mansion or space mountain. Ultimately the coaster won sheerly due to Stan’s admission that he’d actually ride the damn thing. Richie’s ‘Fuck yeah!’ garnered some disapproving glares from the parents of much younger patrons, as well as a vicious elbow to the side from a normally forgiving Ben. 

“Alright, here’s the deal, my fellow asshats,” Mike called back as they entered the park. “If we’re riding coasters today, someone has to hold Stan’s at all times, no exceptions.” 

“Oh fuck off,” Stan grumbled as both Bill and Bev caught his hands and began to play tug of war with him. “You are all two year olds. Why am I even here?” 

“Penance for being too smart for our grade in the 90s. I do feel your pain, Stan. Truly,” Ben replied solemnly. 

“Bitch, I had straight As in high school, why am I not included in this narrative?” Richie exclaimed. He was met with a chorus of answers:

“Because you are a loser.” (Bill)  
“Is anything truly straight about you?” (Ben)  
“And the smartest dumbass award goes to…” (Eddie)  
“Because you’re annoying as shit.” (Stan)  
“Those absolutely do not count.” (Mike) 

Beverly remained blessedly silent, save for maniacal cackling as the others tore him to shreds. Richie held an offended hand to his chest as the cacophony sounded and gasped. 

“You guys are so mean! Jesus! Just because I make dick jokes for a living doesn’t mean I can’t do flawless calculus!” 

“Says one of the two fuckers who’s done LSD,” Eddie replied with a snort. 

“I regret giving you assholes that ammunition. Bully Bill for his drug phase, at least his was semi-mentally stable.” 

“Too late now, sucker,” Beverly replied with a teasing lilt. 

“And who said I was mentally stable at the time?” Bill interjected. 

“Or ever,” said Mike. He got a punch to the arm for that one. 

Somewhere along that conversation, Eddie had slotted himself at Richie’s side like earlier, this time far more purposefully, without Richie even realizing it. Maybe that’s because it felt more ‘right’ than ever before. Beverly was holding Ben’s hand too. Richie and Ben shared a glance that only they could really understand.

**Author's Note:**

> Considering continuing? We shall see. My process for writing is pretty chaotic so if I ever do, that'll be the final update for sure.


End file.
